I was already wet before I stepped into the shower.
The master bathroom was half-gutted—tiles stacked in the hallway, vanity ripped out, the old tub still sitting crooked under a plastic sheet—but the shower itself still worked. Hot water hit my shoulders and ran down my back while I braced one hand on the tile and slid the other between my legs. Two weeks without my husband. Two weeks of an empty house and a contractor who had the keys. I’d told myself I was just restless. That the low throb between my thighs was only because I’d been thinking about the way Mark used to f**k me against this exact wall before the remodel started. My fingers circled my c**t, slow at first, then tighter. I bit my lip and pushed two fingers inside myself, the water making everything slick. My hips rocked. A
